


fevered fury.

by orphan_account



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, Fatal Disease, Gen, Gore, Grimdark, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A lethal disease has taken earth in eternally gripping arms.The only symptom, a cough, is all it takes, before you're mercilessly killed on the spot.Akira, Ryo, and Miki take shelter in an impervious bunker, hidden from the disease, and the insanity of humans racked with terror.





	fevered fury.

**Author's Note:**

> this fanfiction is based off of a, funnily enough, fairly popular my little pony grimdark fic i read back in the day.
> 
> the inspiration always stayed with me!
> 
> (OVA designs, manga/OVA/Go Nagai World characterization)

The air in the small bunker was cold, stale, and damp, unwarmed by any natural heat, except for the gentle radiation of three human bodies. The lack of windows in the cramped space only harshened the nipping hiemal air.

Ryo Asuka, however, seemed unbothered by this, despite the state of his tattered coat. He couldn't exactly tell what was keeping the chill on his skin at bay, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

For a moment, he loathed the windowless room, annoyed by the curtailment of the outer world's visiblity. The bunker kept the group safe, yes, but being shut off from knowing what was happening utterly annoyed him.

A shifting of skin on one of his exposed arms snapped the male from his thoughts, and he stared into the darkness at the general direction of the touch.

"Ryo?" A quiet voice murmured, hardly above the ghost of a whisper. 

Akira, the blonde realized, leaning reassuringly into the other male's warmth.

"I'm here." Ryo crooned, reaching into the dark. Akira tensed beneath him as his fingers met in his hair.

Akira's hair was matted, Ryo noted, and the unwashed curls resisted his attempted, gentle petting. Akira slowly began to relax, and Ryo pulled him closer, allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder. Ryo sighed, rubbing gentle circles into the skin behind Akira's ear.

"Miki? Are you still with us?" Akira mused, his voice unused and shrill in the still air. 

A soft noise of reply to the right of the two spoke louder than words. Akira seemed satisfied with this.

Akira's breathing lightly stirred Ryo's hair as the brunette sat up, stretching stiffly. Ryo wanted to scream at the feeling of loss curling in his gut as the cold air stung the skin Akira's body heat had previously warmed.

"Miki? Do we still have that backpack? I could go for some of that trailmix we packed." Akira sighed balefully, tipping his head towards the general direction of Ryo and Miki. Ryo leaned back into the wall, closing his eyes in quiet contiplation.

It was genuinely impressive, or simply a coincidence, that all three of them had managed to escape uninfected. The disease spread like wildfire, tearing families and communities to weeping shreds, and had managed to delve the earth into a state of frenzied chaos. Humans that felt unsafe, or not in control, were quite the dangerous force. 

Miki noisily sifted through what Ryo could only assume was the aforementioned bag, before replying; "Akira, we have some possibly stale chexmix. Would that be fi—"

A shattering cough interrupted her.

Silence briefly choked the room.

"Who was that?"

Akira shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. The room suddenly felt hundreds of degrees colder, all the remaining warmth sapped out by Ryo's question.

Ryo's voice was venomously soft, dripping with poisonous accusation. 

"Miki. Flashlight." Ryo added curtly, fingers twitching in her direction. Something metal rolled across the concrete floor, and he quickly grabbed it, fingering the rubber nib of the power button, before pressing down, his eyes burning at the sudden burst of light.

Akira and Miki simultaneously winced, both squinting and red faced at the offending light source. 

"Couldn't we wait to see if it was just a parched throat—or—or pollen?" Akira offered, looking terribly dishevelled.

"No Akira, we can't. You've seen how fast it spreads—the effects, too. We can't risk it." Ryo replied cooly, but Akira nervously identified the cruel glint in his eyes, and the ridgidality of his posture. Ryo was furious.

"Now, who coughed? It's one death, or three. It'll be easier if someone fesses up now." The blonde warned, pointing the light in the directions of both of the suspects.

Miki offered a mundane glance at Akira, before sighing. 

"Ryo's right. I'm sorry. It—It was me. I coughed." Miki lowered her head, staring forlornly at her shoes.

Ryo gritted his teeth as Akira released a choking sob, and he didn't even have to turn the light in his direction to realize the brunette was crying. 

"Miki—I'm sorry, but you know what must happen, right?" Ryo queried, feigning sorrowed sympathy. 

Akira notably grew sheet white, covering his face with his hands.

Ryo hesitated for a moment, before unclipping the sawed-off shotgun from his pistol belt, taking a precious heartbeat to make sure the first shot would be, in theory, lethal—sight or no sight.

Miki held Ryo's gaze for what felt like years, before Ryo turned off the flashlight with a resonant click, specifically for Akira's sake.

Miki braced herself, because what else could she do?

The shot was quick, the light blinding, the blast deafening.

Akira thought that for a moment, he saw what the bullets had done to Miki.

The entire top left side of Miki's face looked as though eaten through by flaming acid. Her eye socket had torn at the edge, the bone completely shot through. The heat of the gunpowder fed bullets should have cauterized the wounds—however, that was not the case.

Ryo turned slowly towards Akira, his face stoically cold.

"I'm out of shells." The blonde drawled, and Akira feared he heard a note of unbothered flippancy.

Miki replied with a gurgling moan.

Ryo dropped the gun with a resonant clatter, before clicking the flashlight back on, aiming it at Miki.

Blood had wept up around the edges of the gaps in her skull, oozing placidly down her mangled cheek and dripping from the edges of her jawline and chin. The lack of water she had consumed over the past weeks contributed to the sluggish quality of the gore dribbling from her face. Her eyeball was no where to be seen, the eye socket split completely.

Ryo heard Akira vomit somewhere behind him.

He sighed, picking up the shotgun by the muzzle, and thrusting the handle end into the exact middle of Miki's skull.

At first, the handle simply bounced off, albeit painfully. A second attempt bore fruit, with the skull splitting down the center. The wooden back of the gun drove neatly through her brain, and her keening died with her.

Ryo frowned, slowly removing his gun from the unrecognizable gore of Miki's head, pulling it out with a slick, satisfying pop.

Akira retched again, emptying what was left in his stomach.

The bunker smelt like acidic copper, and Ryo crinkled his nose in disgust.

Ryo turned the flashlight on Akira, choosing to ignore the mess below the brunette.

"Hey, are you alright? I'm sorry about that—I thought i got my aim right." Ryo soothed, pulling Akira away from the puddle of stomach acid, as well as the desiccated corpse.

Akira simply sobbed into Ryo's shoulder, smearing vomit and tears onto the blonde's already ruined coat.

"Hey—Shh, shh, it's okay. It had to be done—I'm sorry, but it was necessary." Ryo shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to deal with Akira's sadness. He himself, was rather relieved to have the witch out of his way, Akira and Akira alone was his preferred option. 

He should have considered this.

Akira violently shook in Ryo's uncertain arms, clutching the collar of his shirt. His tears had stopped, but the sniveling hiccups had remained.

Ryo willed himself to relax, drawing Akira's shivering body closer to his warmth, cupping one hand around the back of Akira's head, and lacing his fingers within Akira's hair.

Akira cried again, gripping Ryo's waist with an iron grip.

Ryo simply sat, because what else could he do?


End file.
